


Book IX.5: Blood and Ice

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Absent Apprentice (The Arcana), Blood and Violence, Book IX: The Hermit, Book X: Wheel of Fortune, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Implied Relationships, Isolation, Lucio (The Arcana) Route, Lucio (The Arcana) is a damsel in distress, Mentioned Apprentice (The Arcana), Mind Games, Other, time distortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: It wasn’t the first time he’d been on his knees in the Devil’s twisted version of his own throne room, but he had a feeling that it might be the last.███████ wasn’t coming.(Takes place between Book IX and Book X of Lucio's route, before you rescue him. There are likely many stories like this, this one is mine.)
Relationships: Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana), The Devil/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I read his route but I don't have my own MC yet, so for now Lucio has partially forgotten important details about them, including their name. Yes, it's supposed to be redacted.

Polished obsidian was cool and yet unsettlingly warm beneath him, the chains twisted tightly around his torso and arms still red hot and yet no longer as searing as they were when they first captured him, lazily shifting against his body like contented snakes. Scorched air filled his lungs, the familiar red fog filling his mind.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been on his knees in the Devil’s twisted version of his own throne room, but he had a feeling that it might be the last.

███████ wasn’t coming.

Asra would stop them if they tried, if they weren’t lying dead somewhere between realms or in the Palace fountain or something. Asra must have planned for this to happen, somehow - he never said _why_ they had to go to the magical realms, his stupid magic lead them directly to the Devil in the first place, he had no intention of helping him in the slightest--

Black claws curling beneath his jaw cut Lucio’s internal diatribe mercifully short, forcing him to look up at his captor instead of the floor. The novelty of full sensation in his skin again hadn’t quite worn off enough to stop him from unconsciously leaning into his hand, encouraging the fingers to soften against his cheek for just a moment.

“If you hadn’t forced me to chase you, I might have been merciful,” The Devil purred, though the wrinkle of a snarl was forming on his snout. “Yet you ran from me, and you hid from me - for _three years_ , you were just barely out of my reach. I don’t like being _toyed with_ , you understand.”

“You have me _now_ , though,” He felt his lips twitch into a reflexive grin. “That’s, uh, that’s good enough, right? I think I’d look handsome in a gilded cage.”

Cold crimson eyes narrowed, black hand pulling away from his face. “I don’t plan to _keep_ you.”

His grin faltered, heart dropping with an odd mix of fear and indignation.

“I simply want to collect what’s owed to me.”

The chains holding him prisoner shifted lower down, exposing his chest but keeping his arms tightly bound. The Devil slowly lowered himself as well, closer to Lucio’s level on the floor though still towering over him, black claws flexing, breath hot against his skin. Instinctively he shifted back on his knees, leaning away from him, only an inch or two as his binds kept him anchored to the floor.

He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he knew for a fact he didn’t _want_ it to happen. He couldn’t remember what he’d promised him, what felt like a lifetime ago.

“L-Listen, maybe we can renegotiate--” Lucio stammered, voice rising an octave with panic. “I can be more useful to you alive-- I can be useful-- whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it, I’ll do anything-- _please_ \--”

One of his chains suddenly surged up from its place around his waist to wrap around his mouth, burning links roughly pushing past his lips, forcing his next plea to die out in a muffled whimper. Trying to push it out with his tongue only caused it to tighten that much more, pressing painfully into his jaw.

The beast smiled, one hand curling against the back of his neck to hold him still. “Much better.”

White-hot agony roared through him as the other hand shoved itself _into_ his chest, ripping past skin and bone as though it was made of paper. He could feel the Devil’s fingers inside him, hot and ruthless, clamping down on his heart like a molten vice -- and then they began to _pull_ , his vision tunneling into darkness as it was slowly tugged forward, not a swift jerk as he’d expected but pulling against some odd resistance, drawing his life force with it, probably the closest he could come to comprehending it was his _soul_ in the bastard’s grasp.

Distantly he could feel his jaws clamping down on the chain in his mouth to muffle agonized sobbing, hard points of metal tearing into his lips, his body convulsing against the hand firm against his neck and buried in his chest, waiting for the latter to finish its journey so he wouldn’t have to feel this anymore, wondering why he hadn’t dropped dead already and _God why did he have to be able to feel every twist and shift--_

“What’s this?” Though the world around him felt distant and unreal, the Devil’s voice was still frighteningly clear. 

The fingers shifted their grip inside him, blindly scraping against his ribs in an attempt to capture something else. Another sickening lurch as whatever it was was tugged into open air, his heart and soul cresting the magical wound in his chest, threatening to come out with it. Some of the darkness cleared just enough to see a flash of gold in the Devil’s bloody claws, a look of alarm and then annoyance on the elegant white snout.

It was like a chain, but much smaller than the ones digging into his skin. His tormentor slowly stood upright again, letting the end closest to Lucio fall slack as his hand followed it upwards and outwards, the tiny links soon disappearing into oblivion. An experimental tug did nothing but jostle what was still linked inside him, eliciting another helpless whimper.

“Blood magic.” The Devil growled, and he could feel more than see the accompanying glower in his direction. “You’ve tied yourself to someone else. A powerful magician. No wonder our bond has weakened.”

Somewhere in his pain-addled mind, he considered pleading for his master to spare ███████, only to have the thought swept back into the crimson fog of agony as a sharper tug sent him reeling, unbeknownst to him reflected on the other end an eternity away. His head dropped, eyes squeezed shut, pulling shuddering breaths through the chain between his teeth while he still had the chance to breathe, the taste of blood in his throat. His body tensed and trembled, waiting for the Devil to go back to ripping him apart, bond or no bond.

Instead there was a burst of warm magic against his chest, sealing the wound and arranging what was inside him back in its proper place before his chains shifted back upwards, sans the one in his mouth, which slackened its grip but didn’t drop away, the torn flesh pressed against it slowly healing as well. Rough fingerpads brushed errant tears from his cheeks, gone before he thought to flinch from it. 

“Tsk, always some kind of _complication_ with you,” The deep voice grumbled, and he felt himself being yanked upwards by the back of his collar, held aloft in one black hand as though he was weightless. The chains anchoring him to the floor slid up with him to wrap around his legs, as though he had any notions of escape.

His body ached too much to attempt to struggle, simply curling in on himself with a quiet whine as he was carried across the room, the clack of hooves against obsidian competing with the pounding of his bruised heart in his ears. There was the warm pull of magic again, a golden archway wrapped in the same sort of chains around him appearing before them. It obviously wasn’t of the Devil’s making, bearing more of a resemblance to his own golden arm.

Behind the door he could see the hint of sand, a little adobe house, something like Nopal. It almost looked inviting, which definitely meant it contained certain death.

The chains binding him slid free, adding to his confusion. By the time he thought to open his mouth to question this, the Devil already shifted his grip, unceremoniously hurling him into the doorway like a sack of potatoes. 

He distantly heard something like ‘I’ll deal with you later’ before darkness overtook him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) i don't remember the full description of Asra's parents' realm, so of course i needed to describe it 
> 
> 2) all paid scenes canon or at least that one cause it's cute

His consciousness slowly came back to him in jagged red pieces, clumsily fitting together like they were from different puzzles built by different makers. Burning sand pressed against his exposed skin, rough and vivid, as though he could feel every single grain. The warmth of the sun pressed against his back, ordinarily welcome but overwhelming in his current state.

His chest still burned from the memory of the Devil’s claws buried inside it, small aftershocks of pain rippling through him even though the source was long gone. His bones felt like lead weights filled with a molten core, some of the stuff sloshing into his skull to beat at his brain. His skin was sensitive and painful, stretched thin over searing bones like a cheap cloak about to tear.

Distant voices filtered through the still air, vaguely familiar but not enough to register as anyone important in the red soup of his mind.

“Aisha! You were right, there IS someone here!”

He felt a hand against his shoulder, the flesh one, slowly rolling him over onto his back and immediately pulling away from him as if the fire inside had spread outside. The voices became hushed and unintelligible, tone tense and suspicious, maybe a little concerned. Blinding light filled the jagged edges behind his eyes, white-gold and excruciating, occasionally mercifully blocked by shadows falling across his face.

Lucio chose one of these moments of darkness to stir, painted eyelids fluttering open with a low groan, drawing a pained hiss through his teeth as the shadows immediately drew back.

In the glare of sunlight, all he saw was purple eyes. Asra’s eyes.

He surged upright with a blind swipe of his golden arm in lieu of any other weapon, claws aiming for those eyes but catching only the ends of fabric as their owner wisely moved out of reach. Owners? Two of them? Their shapes blurred together, shifted red like the jagged edges in his skull. He pressed one hand against his aching head, trying to force it back together as he staggered to his feet.

His sword reappeared in the other hand, grip tight on the handle. He could hear the voices again, but not the words, blotted out by the red in his mind. Were they threatening him? Pleading with him? Did it matter? They were likely sent here to kill him, like most everything else he’d encountered in these realms. He was suddenly very sure of it.

The Count snarled and lunged for the nearest phantasm, mentally preparing himself for another long grueling battle and a slow, annoying victory considering his current state. ███████ wouldn't be here to see it, so he would have to focus on swift and ruthless precision instead of showmanship--

His blade met nothing but open air, and a sharp shock of magic against his back sent him tumbling down face first into the sand once more.

The sword disappeared as soon as it had come, arcs of pain rattling his spine from the magical impact making impossible to recover. His claws curled into the dirt, attempting to force himself up regardless, only to collapse again with a frustrated whine after maybe an inch or two. He couldn’t afford to stay down. A downed hunter is a dead hunter. They would be coming to finish him off any minute now - he knew he would if their positions were reversed.

And yet, once again, the killing blow didn’t come.

He heard the crunch of footsteps in the sand, two sets, leading _away_ from his prone position. One set hesitated next to him, long enough that a shadow fell over him and his body tensed, and then moved to join the other, both slowly fading into the distance until all he could hear was his own labored breathing.

They just _left._ As if he wasn’t worth the effort to kill.

He was alone in the sand, and somehow that was worse than impending death.

Still in too much pain to get up, Lucio simply shifted to pull his cloak over his head to block out the sun, closing his eyes and waiting for either sleep or death to take him.

***

It was dark when he awoke again, surprisingly untouched and un-murdered in his position on the sand. The pain in his body had finally subsided to a dull ache, ever-present but manageable, in a way reminding him of the Plague.

Bad comparison. Don’t think about that.

There was a distinct chill in the air now that the sun had set, cool wind ruffling his hair and his cloak as he pulled it aside. The sand had an odd glittering sheen, sparkling like starlight, mesmerizing and familiar. It crackled under his claws with an experimental poke, revealing its nature - ice. It was ice. The sand was freezing over, somehow.

Of course it was. _Of course it was._

Lucio growled and began to push himself up again, his arm jostling a small handmade-looking bowl of half-frozen water sitting next to him. That wasn’t there earlier, although to be fair, everything was blurred and red before. Without a second thought he scooped it up and drained it in one desperate gulp, nearly choking on the ice. A renewed pang of agony snapped through his skull at the temperature change, thankfully fading soon after he let the bowl drop to the sand.

If that was poisoned, he’d sort that out later. For now, he had to focus on finding shelter. The wind had picked up, bringing soft white flakes down from the previously clear night sky. Only a few for the moment, sparse and lazy, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

What had ███████ said? He was causing this?

He couldn’t remember what had made it stop before. It just did. Not thinking about it hadn’t worked, he’d thought of nothing but the magician snuggling against him in the Labyrinth, warming them both up with magic while they slept. His alchemical arm flexed, its warmth inaccessible to him. It wasn’t worth it to try it himself, as much as he wanted to.

Red eyes scanned over the landscape for the first time since he’d been dropped here, assessing potential hiding spots and threats. Snow spotted sand stretched as far as the eye could see, dunes rising into sparkling hills, fading gently into the darkness. There was the hint of water somewhere to the right, the hiss of a natural geyser drifting through cool air, presumably where his anonymous gift had come from. And in the distance, the little adobe house he’d seen through the gateway, streaks of white already gathering across the roof.

He hadn't thought much of it when he'd first seen it, but now it was a very clear lifeline. A house meant warmth and people. People meant someone who he could order to help him get the hell out of here, or at least take care of him while ███████ came to get him.

They were all prisoners here. Surely they would be amenable.

Streaks had become a thick, even layer of white by the time he’d made his way to it, snow falling harder and faster around him, icy wind sharp and fast, stinging his skin, tugging at his clothes. All traces of golden sand had been completely swallowed up in snowdrifts, ankle-deep and rising. Through the flurry of flakes he could see the warm glow of lights and humanoid shadows shifting through the windows, presumably going about their peasant business.

He shook the gathering snow off his shoulders and straightened up, a disarming smile at the ready, golden hand briskly rapping on the door. The shadows stopped, but the door did not instantaneously open to him.

“Hello there,” He began, putting on his best ‘talking with the people’ voice. “I am the great and handsome Count Lucio of Vesuvia - perhaps you’ve heard of me? I was wondering if you would be so kind as to let me stay in your uh, _charming_ little hovel- home for the night, or at least until the storm has passed.”

 _If_ it passed, but he wasn’t about to let them know anything about its apparent source.

Purple eyes appeared by the window, still strikingly close to Asra’s but now obviously belonging to someone else, the same brown skin and irritatingly, deceptively calm expression below shaggy brown hair.

“We know who you are.” The man said, evenly. His voice was distantly familiar.

Lucio’s shoulders dropped with relief, glancing expectantly at the door. “Good, good, then you know you’ll be handsomely rewarded if you let me in.”

Another set of purple eyes appeared next to the window, colder and more calculating, their owner a woman in a pink headscarf. Neither she nor the man made any move towards the door, instead both regarding him carefully, as though he were some kind of dangerous animal prowling about on their doorstep instead of a handsome Count.

“No.” She said finally, walking away from the window.

His grin faltered, shuddering against the wind. “What do you mean, no?? It’s _freezing_ out here.”

“What my darling wife means to say is--” He heard a softer but emphatic ‘I mean _no_ ’ behind the man. “How can we trust you?”

“Trust m-- I am the _paragon_ of trustworthiness! You don't want to be here any more than I do, I imagine - what would I possibly have to gain from making it worse for both of us??”

The wind was picking up, snowfall thicker and more ruthless around him. He was forced to ignobly huddle up next to the door, wrapping his cloak around himself for warmth. The other man seemed to be considering this, painfully slowly in the face of the mounting blizzard. Perhaps on purpose, to watch him squirm.

“A decision in the next _century_ would be nice.” Lucio sniffed, glancing at the door meaningfully once more.

The man who looked too much like Asra for his liking glanced away from the window, presumably towards the woman, a hand absently scrubbing through his hair in thought. It was beginning to bother him how familiar and yet unfamiliar they were to him, as if he was supposed to know them but couldn't place the names or faces. He had an inkling this was meant to be important, which was even more annoying.

After what felt like an eternity the man turned back towards him, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, but -- given your reputation, and how you treated us the last time we met--”

“Not to mention you tried to kill us earlier today,” The woman's voice added.

“--I just don't know if we'll be safe in close quarters with you. You're unpredictable and a lot could happen in a night.”

The Count flinched back as if struck, red eyes wide and incredulous. “So you're just going to let an innocent man _freeze to death_ because of some petty grudge from the past I don't even remember??”

“You're not going to freeze to death,” The woman chimed in again, sounding as though she had told someone this a thousand times before. He could almost hear his own mother's hoarse tone derisively finish with ‘you foolish boy’.

“With all due respect, it's a _bit_ more than a petty grudge.” The man sighed, but didn't elaborate, instead turning away from him once more. “There are a few caves around here you could weather the storm in, I think. We can give you some provisions so you won't go hungry, and I think there's a spare blanket--"

An indignant squawk escaped his throat unbidden, interrupting his attempted benefactor. Crouching in some cave with a little bindle of food like a homeless peasant while a perfectly acceptable shelter with four walls and a warm bath was _right_ _here_ was not something he would tolerate, regardless of any bad blood or murder attempts.

“I--I _order_ you to open this door right now.” He snapped, wincing as it came out more desperate than intended.

The door remained unopened.

“This isn't Vesuvia. You have no power here.”

That hurt, more than he thought it would. He forced himself to focus on trying to pry the door open with his golden hand instead, claws scrabbling uselessly at the frame like a trapped animal. He could barely see the damn thing for the snow in his face.

“Open the door, _please._ ”

The door still remained closed, and the man began to walk away from the window to join his wife, leaving Lucio alone in the storm. A renewed surge of panic carried through his arms to pound on the door instead, as if they simply had forgotten he was here and needed a loud reminder.

“Don't you dare turn your back on me! Open this door, damn you! Or I'll break it down!”

He distantly heard the woman's voice say something to the effect of ‘just ignore him’, further tearing open the wound in his pride. He couldn't see much but white and red, a full on blizzard roaring around him, wind roughly pushing against him like some large creature toying with him before it pounced. The snow was up to his knees, filling his boots.

The smart thing to do would be to leave this dead end and find one of those aforementioned caves to hunker down in. But his wounded pride kept him beating against the door, backing up half a step to launch himself at it golden pauldron first, aiming to break it open with his full bodyweight and cursing as he bounced harmlessly off the thick wood instead. He could hardly feel the coming pain in his side, already too cold to feel much of anything.

Shaking claws raised to shatter a window instead, hesitating and drawing back as he realized it would just make his quarry that much less warm if-- _when_ he made it inside. They had to let him in. They just had to. That's how these things are supposed to go - your Count is in need, you help him.

Something inside him snapped, puzzle pieces fitting into place with a flurry of gold and iron bars. He remembered now, why these people were familiar and too damn _frightened_ of him to help. With a snarl he rammed his shoulder into the door again, this time leaning his weight against it, stubbornly bearing down on it like a beast of burden. The wood creaked, but didn't splinter.

“I should have had the lot of you slaughtered like animals that same damn night, including your stupid brat!” He yelled, loud enough the blizzard wouldn't take it before they heard him. “Then I wouldn't _be_ in this mess in the first place! This is all Asra’s fault!”

Rather than give him the anticipated catharsis, the words dropped sickeningly in his gut the moment they left his mouth. There was no negotiating with them now, he’d shown his true colors and proven them right. That had never been a problem before, but for some reason he was horribly hyper aware of it now.

He stopped straining against the door, shoulders sagging with a flood of exhaustion as he sank down onto his knees in the snow, shuddering against the wind and that odd feeling in his gut. He let his head drop against the wood with a resigned sigh, wrapping himself in both arms and his too thin cloak in a last ditch effort to stay warm. They likely weren't listening anymore - why should they? - but he gave another attempt at a plea anyway.

“.. let me in. Please. I'm not gonna kill you. I'm cold and I'm lonely and I just want to go home.”

The door remained solid and unmoved against his cheek. He curled up tighter and buried his face in the fur trim of the cloak, barely feeling the snow already swallowing him up to his ribs or the growing weight of it on his shoulders. Would they feel bad if they discovered his frozen corpse on their doorstep later in the night, propped up like some unholy doorstop? He hoped so.

Just below the howling of the wind, he distantly heard his name.

He snapped his head up, twisting towards the torrent and waiting to hear it again. It sounded like ███████’s voice.

His magician was calling for him - more importantly, they actually came back for him, despite Asra. He could make out the vague outline of their body in the blizzard, further beyond the crystalline structure that was once a geyser. The shape was unmistakable - ███████ was here and waiting for him!

Hope soared in his heart as he staggered to his feet, stumbling and catching himself on the door before sprinting out into the storm towards them, heedless of how his legs were numb and stiff and carried him along like pogo sticks. He immediately swept them up with laughter like broken glass and a flurry of frozen kisses the moment he made it to them, keeping them close to his body for maybe a bit longer than necessary before reluctantly letting them back down. Their smile was as bright and warm as sunshine, gently lacing their fingers with his stiff flesh ones in order to start pulling him away.

It didn't matter that the blizzard was getting worse instead of better, ███████ was here!

***

Far behind him, the door opened just a crack, two sets of purple eyes gazing out with concern as they watched the Count disappear into the storm alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honey i think that's a pull door


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what other paid scene is canon? comforting the dumb, cold goat
> 
> this is mandatory

███████‘s hand was warm in his despite the blizzard raging on around them, and Lucio kept his grip almost uncomfortably tight on it, making sure they stayed close to him. They didn’t seem to mind, their other arm draped across his lower back, hand on one hip, patiently gazing up at him as he recounted previous events. 

He may have glazed over the part where the Devil tried to rip his soul out, if only because there was no good way to spin it in his favor.

“--and just when I thought I’d vanquished the lot of them, one of them took a cheap shot at me with magic! Strong magic, probably would have killed lesser men, but it just knocked me out.”

His back still smarted a bit.

“When I woke up, the stupid blizzard was back, so I went looking for shelter.” His lips twitched into a pout. “I found this little house but the people in it wouldn’t let me in, and told me to go die in a cave instead.”

“Did they really?” He’d come to recognize that incredulous tone in his magician’s voice.

Luckily the high of having their companionship again outweighed the blow to his ego, although his pout deepened a bit, obscured by the blizzard but hopefully translating well enough in his voice. “Well-- no, not exactly in those words. But the sentiment was there. I don’t know what I did wrong, I asked them nicely and everything.”

He knew ███████ would question him further about that if he let them, and allowed himself to stumble a bit on the coming snowdrift as a distraction. It may have helped that his legs were still rather numb, hardly legs at all. As predicted they moved closer to his side to help him right himself, quietly fussing. He couldn’t help but press another frozen kiss to their forehead, potentially giving away the game.

“Be careful,” They gently groused, holding up their entwined hands. “We’re attached, remember?”

He remembered the small chain being pulled out of his chest, presumably currently wrapped around his heart, and shivered. “Yeah, we are-- I mean, I will. I’m just so sick of all this snow.”

As if to spite him, a fresh gale blew more snow directly into his face, which immediately flushed red as he heard ███████ ‘s musical laughter over the howling wind. Something about it wasn’t quite right, but in the moment, he chose to ignore that, instead tugging their hand forward and taking longer, more confident strides, taking a bit of perverse enjoyment in how they were momentarily forced to jog to keep up.

“Do you know where we’re going?” They asked.

“We’re looking for a gate. Thing.” Visions of gold and chains drifted through his mind, distorted through the red fog of agony. Maybe it wasn’t even gold. “You’ll know it when you see it, I think.”

Having something to focus on may have encouraged the blizzard to slack, just enough that the gentle slopes of the ground were visible again. The shadow of something hung in the distance, something large and inorganic -- potentially the gate? He couldn’t remember how big it was. For all he knew, it was an odd-shaped rock.

He pointed himself towards it regardless, moving fast but not so fast his magician couldn’t keep pace, distantly wondering if it would be easier if he carried them instead. Would they allow it? They would probably allow it. He knew _he_ liked being carried around by people capable of it.

Without a second thought he paused to scoop them up in his arms, nearly falling to the ground as they startled in his grip, shifting to hold onto his neck for security. They were a bit heavier than anticipated, but he wasn’t about to _say_ that. They looked as if they were about to protest, so he simply stole that protest from them with a kiss to their warm lips, stumbling and nearly dropping them again for his trouble.

The shadow in the distance grew closer, shape slowly becoming clearer in the storm. Smallish, vaguely familiar, not golden in the slightest.

It was the little adobe house again, except this time the windows were dark, and the door stood wide open, repeatedly slamming back against the wall in the wind. A small smattering of snow gathered at the doorway, but it wasn’t completely snowed in, indicating this was a recent change.

There was no sign of Asra’s parents, and he wondered why he wasn’t glad of it.

Lucio ducked inside the doorway, gently letting ███████ back onto the floor before he turned to close the door, blocking out the wind and snow. It was still cold inside, but not unbearable. He shook the snow off himself like one of his dogs, not an inkling of shame at spattering his magician with it, too focused on stretching his arms and then his back with a low groan, a satisfyingly loud crack rippling through his spine. 

The floor was oddly sticky beneath his heels. He refused to think about that, striding further in, squinting in the darkness for any signs of life.

“Hello again!” He called, voice echoing through the apparently empty house, another disarming grin at the ready. “Door’s open, so I just. Let myself in.”

The house remained eerily silent, neither magician hurrying from the shadows to escort him out. 

A sturdy wooden chair stood upturned next to the door, presumably the reason he couldn't break in before. Towards the center of the room there was a small couch, well worn and covered by an intricately patterned blanket, shimmering gold and purple. He made his way towards the couch, flopping down on it as though he owned the place. His body was slowly beginning to thaw out, exhaustion and that dull ache filtering back in.

“This is the house I was telling you about,” He explained, lazily stretching his legs over the opposite armrest. If it was warmer in here, he'd consider shucking off his boots. “I guess they must have stepped out or something. They won’t mind if we stay here a while, I think.”

███████ hesitated a moment before joining him, straddling his waist as he’d left no room on the couch to sit. Their expression was unreadable, but heat still flooded him as they leaned down to capture his lips in a kiss, this time with a bit more sensation. There was something off about the taste, oddly familiar in a different way than he remembered their taste - not bad, just different. He immediately leaned up into it, shuddering as they released him to nibble at his neck. In this moment they could do whatever they wanted with him and he would be helpless to stop it, as if he'd want to stop it.

“You don't have to worry about that,” They were saying, voice low against his throat, warm hands sliding under his shirt, working the feeling back into cold skin with achingly soft caresses.

He let his head drop back against the armrest, relaxing under their touch. “Worry about what?” 

“Asra’s parents,” They leaned up over him again, tilting their head to the side. “You killed them, remember?”

A jolt of panic shot through him, destroying that feeling of relaxation. Lucio snapped his head back up, red eyes wide and questioning. Surely he hadn't heard them right.

“No I didn't,” He blurted out, his own quick answer seeding further doubt, bypassing the notion that ███████ shouldn't know who they are in the first place. “I never intended to _kill_ them -- I just wanted to be warm. What kind of monster do you take me for?”

Against his better judgment he leaned up, pushing his magician back, eyes drawn as if compelled toward the floor. A too-familiar crimson sheen glittered in the night - blood, it was blood, the floor was sticky because it was coated in blood. Blood and ice. Little hand-fashioned knickknacks and magical trinkets and furniture were strewn across the house, debris and darkness concealing where the bodies might be. The door was splintered across the middle, like some beast had torn it apart.

It hadn't looked like that when they came in, he was sure of it. None of this looked like that.

Had it?

Jagged red edges shifted in his skull again, excruciating and disorienting. He lifted a hand to his head, only to stop mid-motion as the glint of blood on his golden claws caught his eye. Blood on his claws, splattered across his chest and thighs, smearing across his magician's clothing in a way old blood shouldn't, the stink of death suddenly very sickeningly vivid in this house. Nevermind that he knew they wouldn't rot that fast in the cold, the smell was everywhere.

His magician shifted red, watching him with an unsettling calmness, almost disappointed, as though they expected him to revel in it. They leaned over him to kiss him again, hardly stopped by the shaking, bloody hand against their chest - this was _not_ the time for that, and they knew it, didn't they? If their positions were reversed, they would be stopping him, not letting him try again, deeper and more passionate, almost possessive. 

Why were they acting like this?

He jerked his aching head away, catching his breath in shuddering gasps, his hand remaining firm against their chest, keeping them at arm's length. His skin crawled under soft fingers, suddenly feeling violated.

“You have to understand, I didn't--" Eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the blood and the pain, the red in their own eyes. “Why would I--"

The world shifted under him, and the wind was howling in his ears again, ice and snow battering his prone body, threatening to bury him. He immediately leapt to his feet before he’d finished opening his eyes, seeing only the same icy landscape as before, no sign of blood or the little adobe house. 

They hadn't been in there at all, he realized. It was just more magical bullshit. A burst of bewildered laughter escaped his throat, startling himself. 

That sickening cold feeling had dropped into his gut again, unable to stop thinking about the people in that house. What if he HAD killed them after all, in some blind animal rage after they refused him? It felt so long ago now, overwritten by the horror of whatever the hell that was. He couldn't remember anything but the smell of blood and death, let alone the impulses that carried him through that night. The worst part was that he _knew_ he could have done it.

He whirled around back toward the way he'd come, or at least, where he thought that was. The blizzard raging around him looked exactly the same on all sides. 

“We have to go back--" His hand automatically reached back to grab for ███████’s, and found only more snow and wind.

They were gone. He was alone in the storm.

He yelled for them, the blizzard violently ripping their name from his mouth. His chest tightened with panic, the house and its potentially dead occupants forgotten in favor of surging through the snow in the last direction he’d seen them. When exactly had reality twisted on him? Before or after he'd thought to pick them up? How long had they been gone? Who was kissing him just now?

Too preoccupied with the taste of their lips, Lucio stumbled over another thick snowdrift at top speed, slamming face down in the snow with a shriek of dismay. He drew a pained hiss through his teeth, pushing himself up onto hands and knees, angry at himself more than anything - he knew how to navigate stupid snow, it was in his blood, no amount of living in sunny Vesuvia or claws of fear gripping his heart would change that. Despite that he could hardly focus, vision blurring with snow and something he refused to acknowledge.

His flesh fingers brushed against a small divot in the snow as they moved to push him to his feet, realizing it was deliberately disturbed there and not by him. More divots heading further out of his field of vision, into the storm, a bit larger than hand size and oblong shaped. 

Tracks. There were tracks here. 

███████’s tracks?

For a moment they shifted red, like blood, the shape twisted into something like large animal hooves. He blinked away the snow, and they were human footprints again, though their crimson hue had only faded a little. His heart leapt into his throat, wondering if this meant his magician was hurt. How could he have not noticed they were hurt? Maybe they'd run themselves raw looking for him, when reality twisted and he went wherever the hell he was.

He didn't want to know how long they must have been separated. He could have been in that house for ages.

The Count staggered to his feet once more, keeping eyes on those red tracks, his pace slowed to more of a jog as he followed them. The landscape slowly shifted around him, closer to the unforgiving dark forests of the South again, though it was desert plantlife frozen instead, alien in the ice. He forced himself to ignore any of the familiarity in it, focused solely on the hunt - eyes to the ground, ears to the wind, hunched low to stay downwind in case anything else was tracking his magician as well.

He distantly heard his name on the wind again, in their voice, and in an instant his concentration shattered. He immediately picked himself up to run towards the sound, red footprints kept in the corner of his view but no longer the top priority, weaving through the unholy hybrid of countrysides swift and nimble despite the pain pulsing through his legs.

“Luciooooo!”

There again, closer and yet in a completely different direction than before, accompanied by the outline of their body in the torrent, gone as soon as he caught sight of it. He turned, too fast, skidding across the half packed snow and scrambling to keep himself upright, pulling too far to the other side, legs slipping out from under him and sending him to the ground anyway. 

He was getting _very_ tired of cramming his face into snow and ice.

Lucio gathered himself up once more, shaking snow and rising doubt from his head. He opened his mouth to call for them again, to get a better bead on which way he should be trying to go - that last one may have just been their voice echoing off the trees, bouncing the wrong way.

His own name drifted across the wind instead, somewhere to the back of him, sounding like they were right on top of him. There was nothing there when he whirled towards it, and he didn't have the chance for another blind charge before he was called again, distant, yet another direction entirely, echoing on the heels of the last one, bouncing off each other in an odd kind of round until their voice surrounded him, like the yelling cave but so much worse.

Their vague outline hung in the trees at every angle he glanced towards, remaining the exact same distance from him on all sides, even as he took a hesitant step towards them.

None of those shapes were them. If ███████ was all of them, they were none of them. 

His gaze dropped to the snow, trying to ground himself with the knowledge he could follow the tracks instead.

They were still blood red but much less vivid, like old blood, crossing and criss crossing themselves in dizzying circles, spreading across the small clearing in a tangle of confused limbs. The shape had changed, no longer human footprints, distinct hoof marks of some large goatlike beast, too small to be the Devil. And rather than lead into oblivion, they ended beneath his own feet, as though he'd made them himself. 

But his feet were human. He was human again. He couldn't have made them. 

Lucio staggered back from them, turning away before he could see if he made fresh hoofprints, hand clutching his head in anticipation of the red edges scraping against his skull again. The cacophony of his magician’s voice echoing around him intermingled with the howling of the wind, making it sound like some animal cursing his name in violent death throes. If the voice wasn't theirs, the shape wasn’t theirs, the tracks weren't theirs, the lips weren't theirs - were they here at all?

His heart dropped, painfully, as though the Devil had finished pulling it out. He was slowly, unwillingly coming to the realization that he was, in fact, alone in his icy prison, horrific magical portents notwithstanding. Especially if he'd killed Asra's parents.

███████ wasn't here. They had abandoned him, like everyone else.

No, he refused to believe that. He would not, could not, let that be his reality. He was going to find out which of these phantoms was the real one, he was going to chase them down and give them an earful, and then they were _both_ going to get the hell out of here, together. 

Maybe he could _sense_ which one was the right one, by their magic. ███████ had done it, why couldn't he?

Nevermind that his entire experience with magic had been decidedly less.. _zen_ than whatever Asra had taught them.

He closed his eyes and fell dead still, waiting to feel something. He wasn't sure what it was supposed to feel like - definitely not the burning, addictive pull of the Devil's magic, he knew that much. All he could feel was the cold of the blizzard tearing at his body, the steadily rising panic in his chest, his pulse pounding in his ears. It was dark and red behind his eyes, completely useless. No magical trails leading him to victory. Not even a proper sense of foreboding telling him to stay away. 

The ghost of a warm hand steadying against his flesh arm startled him from this useless experiment, and despite himself he let hope soar in his heart as he opened his eyes again, please let them be here--

Nothing. No one. For all he knew he could have touched himself.

With a frustrated snarl Lucio forced himself to charge towards the nearest phantasm, letting it lead him back into open air, doggedly following it through whatever twists and turns and red whispers of despair it chose to drag him through, thinking, hoping, maybe if he caught up to it, somehow it would turn out to be ███████ in the flesh. His legs and chest burned, lungs struggling for breath, and yet he continued to run, had to run, couldn't let himself stop and _think_. 

He ran for what felt like hours, days, centuries, infuriatingly no closer to his quarry. Distantly he realized he was being lead in circles, a dog desperately chasing its own tail. Every step felt like his boots were filled with broken glass and molten lead, searing up through his frozen bones, briefly wondering if this was why the tracks were red. His body ached and screamed for mercy, and yet he continued to run, red eyes trained on his distant prey, vision blurring again. He had to catch them. He just had to.

With a sudden, sickening lurch he felt his legs give way beneath him, collapsing in the snow before he'd finished registering the fact he was no longer running. 

Once again he was paralyzed by agony, this time unable to even attempt pushing himself up, hardly able to even breathe. All he could do was lie there and watch with mounting terror as the snow began to rise around him, gradually burying him alive, brain screaming at him to fight it, claw his way out, cry for help, _something_. The last bare hint of light above him was swallowed up by darkness in a horribly final sort of way - his prison had become his tomb.

The packed snow weighing him down blotted out the howling wind, leaving only deafening silence. Unable to force him into action, his mind instead turned inwards on itself, claws raised and teeth sharp. Doubts and thoughts he tried to escape pounced on him like predators in the silence, so much more painful than the fire in his bones.

He was going to die here, alone and forgotten in some magical wasteland. No one was coming to save him, no one even knew where he was. Asra had convinced ███████ he wasn't worth the trouble. Noddy was going to finish clearing out his room and his wing without him there to stop it, erasing all evidence of him ever having lived there. He could clearly see her placing the Painting on a bonfire in the Palace gardens, watching the flames destroy him like the cold was destroying him now. Would that make her happy?

What would become of his dogs? They were trained to answer only to him. They wouldn't accept another master. She would have to put them down, wouldn't she? He begged his mind not to envision that one, his nerves already stripped bare from the idea of a funeral pyre for the last vestige of his human face.

The people would forget his name. History would shrug him off like a speck on the page.

Hell, even the Devil might forget he'd stored him out here for ‘later’. He would be long dead by the time he came to collect. Wouldn't that be funny? He thought it was fucking hilarious, judging by the broken laughter echoing in his tomb, sounding like some madman had crept in here with him.

But the worst part was that he couldn't find anyone to blame for this but himself. He tried to blame Asra, the Devil, even ███████. It all rang hollow, the desperate lashing out of a cornered animal to keep from seeing the truth when the truth was all that was left. It started small, creeping up on him - he shouldn't have ran after the specters, he shouldn't have left the little house, he shouldn't have let Asra take him to the magical realms in the first place, he shouldn't have answered ███████'s summons as a ghost, he shouldn't have trusted any of them to take care of him as he was dying, he shouldn't have come to Vesuvia, he shouldn't have left the South, he shouldn't have been born.

He felt his consciousness start to wane, exhaustion taking hold. His instinct was of course to fight it… but maybe if he let it take him, he would wake up at the Palace with his magician, like none of this had ever happened.

***

It was still cold and dark when he woke.

He was still trapped in his icy tomb, unable to move, now more aware of it than ever. He couldn't tell if time had passed - it felt like it had been a second and years simultaneously.

How long was it before he froze to death? He distantly remembered his mother warning it could take anywhere from minutes to hours if you were stupid enough to stay out in conditions like this. His limbs were still cold and painful, but nothing had fallen off, nothing had changed, as though his body had reached the limit of sensations it knew. How long had he been trapped down here? Frostbite should have already dropped him back to one arm, yet he could still move his fingers, or at least the idea of fingers, miles away.

Perhaps he was already dead, and his mind hadn't yet caught up to it. Trapped between life and death once again, but worse, because he could feel the life draining from him, agonizingly slow and unable to do anything to stop it, not even to rail uselessly against it.

What happens when a ghost dies?

***

Consciousness ebbed and flowed like a cold black ocean, awareness coming to him and leaving again in waves. He tried to remember the sound of ███████’s voice, the warmth of their lips, the idea of warmth itself drawing further away from him, vague echoes like chasing a dream. Their name was on the very edge of his mind, teetering towards oblivion. Their face blurred together with others, Nadia's own sharp features a brown smudge in the cold. 

There was nothing but the cold. It filled him and hollowed him out all at once, dragging more of him into the abyss with each slow, black wave. He could barely feel his own heartbeat, weak and cold in his chest. 

What would happen to the bond if he died? Would ███████ die with him? Would he feel it?

He hoped they wouldn't be dragged down with him. They were a strong magician. They didn't deserve this. His arms were still stiff and paralyzed where they lie, the barest hint of twitching claws near his face as he wondered if he could manually separate them, somehow. Just reach in there and break the chain. It would likely be as cold and brittle as the heart entangled in it, it should shatter easily under his fingers.

Distantly he understood it wasn't a corporeal concept, just what his mind had chosen to represent the bond. But powerless as he was, he held onto the idea that he could fix this with a simple flick of the wrist, the urge to tear himself apart slowly fading as darkness claimed him again.

***

An eternity away, he thought he heard his name again. In their voice, no less. 

He forcefully quashed the small blip of hope in his frozen heart, remaining dead still beneath the snow instead of attempting to escape and run to them, like a fairytale fucking ending. He couldn't take another trick, another wild goose chase. Not like this. He was too tired, too cold, too far gone.

The sound grew closer, taunting him. He tried to ignore it, curling in on himself and waiting for the cold darkness to claim him again.

***

A sharp bolt of agony in his side startled him into consciousness and out of his tomb, forcing him into open air with a pained squawk.

The storm had finally died down - but more importantly, ███████ was gazing down at him with concern written in every line of their face, every detail in perfect, beautiful clarity.

They looked so real, so lifelike, as if they'd really come back for him. The finest trick yet, one he fell for in an instant, a flood of terror and hope swelling painfully in his chest, nearly dropping him back into the abyss. A dam of freezing tears he didn't know he was holding back burst wide open under their soft gaze, face too cold to feel them rushing down his cheeks, smearing his makeup, blurring his vision.

Without a second thought Lucio threw himself into their arms, burrowing his face into their neck and digging his trembling fingers tightly into their clothes in case they might slip away again, the heat of their body against his frozen skin overwhelming, agonizing, like holding onto fire, being engulfed in it as they pulled him closer to their chest and held him just as tight.

Between the two options, he'd gladly burn again.

“It's okay, I'm here.”


End file.
